Dolores
by Yamss
Summary: She was ethereal; the embodiment of everything he had ever wanted. But he knew that, by the laws of society, he would never be able to have her. Besides, the look in her eyes told him all he needed to know.


warning: implied pedophilia/hebephilia, although no urges are explicitly acted upon.

* * *

She was young and independent, even at the inexperienced age of thirteen. Her eyes shown a strong determination to be the best and nothing but; and although she was a mere five-one she still managed to look down on all those around her. No matter what situation she found herself in, she refused to be made uncomfortable, rather she would stand emboldened by her own haughtiness, causing those around her to feel discomfort instead.

It fascinated me.

Despite her arrogance and hardened attitude, she looks like nothing but a sweet young girl. Her legs, as usual, are bare. Silky and pale, I cannot help but wonder how they would feel to my touch; the softness of her inner thighs as her long adolescent legs wrap around my waist. But I digress; this is a mere fantasy of mine, one which is forbidden from ever being fulfilled. Still, it haunts me in the wee hours of the morning as I sleep, and exists hauntingly at the back of my mind every waking hour of the day.

She wears a long red coat that ends just barely below her hips. The hemline skirts about her legs, offering me tantalizing glimpses of her girlish knickers and stimulating my imagination. Sometimes, when I'm alone, I fancy that she does it on purpose; that she's merely teasing me; that she wants me as much as I want her. It hurts to think this isn't true.

Her long hair she keeps held back by a couple of yellow clips: I envy them, touching every day what I long to touch for even a second. She is, in a word, _beautiful_.

I first met her three years ago, when she was at the tender age of ten years. I had, once again, holed myself up on Iron Island to train and to atone for my sins. That was when she stumbled into my life, or more accurately; I stumbled into hers. From a distance I watched her navigate the dark cave with a pronounced scowl marring her ethereal features. Any wild Pokémon she encountered were dealt with swiftly, but it wasn't her battling skills that entangled me: it was her very self. I was absolutely captivated by her every action: her nubile form; the chaste way in which she carried herself through the darkened caverns; the aura of innocence that surrounded her, a side effect of her age.

That moment I decided that I would not, could not let her get away from me.

I approached her and her hand went immediately to one of her many poké balls. I didn't fight her though; instead, I offered to escort her through the caves. She had no choice but to accept, after all.

I wanted to see her falter; I wanted her to show fear, to lose the imposing scowl that was so out of place on her youthful features. I wanted to see her façade crumble and I wanted to be the cause of it. I followed her under the pretense of guidance, and under the same pretense I was determined to get my way.

However, when we reached the cave's exit, I faltered. At that moment, the very moment in which I had planned to act, she gave me a look of suspicion, of contemptuous mistrust, her lip curled in a sneer. True to her precocious and unearthly nature, she had seen right through my intentions. I couldn't bring myself to do it.

She walked out of my life and I've thought about her ever since. She had left the island, and though I longed to follow her and be her ever-present shadow, I forced myself to remain. She had given me a fresh list of sins that I had to atone for.

She was not the first; there had been others to make me feel this way, but they had grown old, matured. It was good to see that after three years she hadn't changed a bit. She still looked just as she did at ten: divine, unearthly, whimsical. Seeing her after all this time still stirred within me the same things I felt three years ago. I still wanted her; I wanted her to bend to my every whim willingly and fully; I wanted her small form to lie prone before me, whispering my name as if I was all she would ever need.

It hurt to think I could never have her, not like this. Were she older, things would be fine, allowed, even. But I have never been satisfied by what is allowed: I desire the forbidden. And, even if she were older, she would not return my affections. The look so prevalent in her eyes told me she could never love anyone as much as she does herself; she would not call my name, but her own. She bends to no man's will.

She hasn't changed one bit. But then again, neither have I.

I retreat into the darkness, as I have done time and time again. I still have sins to atone for.

* * *

_"...and soon I found myself maturing amid a civilization which allows a man of twenty-five to court a girl of sixteen but not a girl of twelve."_

(from Lolita)

Note that nothing in this story reflects the actual views of the author. I find pedophilia abhorrent, which is why I wrote this in the first place. The fact that people actually ship this in a romance-y way is appalling (oh well, to each his own). Thankfully, there's only a few of them, but I've read some that are written as some cliché romance that is completely socially acceptable in every way.

Essentially, I wanted to portray this pairing for what it truly is: creepy, and I wanted to write it from the creep's perspective. I wanted to emphasize that Riley, as a pedophile, does not see Dawn as a person; he doesn't love her, he wants _her _to want _him. _He believes that this would make such a relationship okay.  
She is, essentially, a dream, a fantasy, something that should never, ever come true. I wanted her to be a 'nymphet' in the sense that she is some sort of pre-teen goddess, like how Humbert Humbert saw Dolores Haze.

I wrote this based on the games, nothing else. I don't watch the anime, I don't read the manga, so neither of those influenced this. I don't even know how Riley or Dawn act in the anime, and I don't really care.


End file.
